ALICIA
“All right, Emmy,” Brandon says. “Tell me what you smell.”
The two of them are standing in the backyard, both dressed in jumpsuits specially designed to tear away from the body. It’s a training garment for a young shifter, but Brandon had the woman who makes them for our pack design one in his size so he could go through the training exercises alongside our daughter.
I sit on the porch and watch them, a couple of bottles of water beside me for whenever they decide it’s time for a break. I used to worry about how Emmy would get her shifter training. It was hard to imagine it happening when we were living in the human world. But now she’s the daughter of the alpha, and she has every resource a kid could ever want.
“I smell smoke,” Emmy says, fidgeting. “It’s bonfire day.”
“Right, of course,” Brandon says. “But try to smell beyond the smoke. Remember, your wolf is uniquely designed to pick up on all the scents around you. She knows what’s out there, even if your human mind isn’t processing it. Listen to the wolf.”
Emmy breathes in again slowly. She’s remarkably composed for a six-year-old. When I was her age, I was liable to let my wolf out at the slightest provocation, and I know for a fact that Brandon was even worse than I was.
“Mud,” she says after a moment’s pause.